


Guardian Angel

by threeminutesoflife



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Kidnapping, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Stalking, Unprotected Sex, dark!sam wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeminutesoflife/pseuds/threeminutesoflife
Summary: Reader suffered nightmares her whole life forewarning her. Breaking up with Sam, she brought her dreams to life.
Relationships: Sam Wilson (Marvel)/Reader
Kudos: 3





	Guardian Angel

He wipes the blood off his red goggles. This is not how it was supposed to go, but it’s too late.  
~~  
_Dear Diary,  
The online articles say writing helps, so here goes- The dreams are back again with those same chanted words in the background:  
Broken bird, crafted wing.  
I’ll take care of you, I’ll help you sing.  
When I was little, the dreams were draped in red shadows with a monster standing in front of a red wall. Fear always on the tip of my tongue, I’d wake up terrified and sobbing on top of my stuffed alligator, Pierre. As I grew, the dreams worsened- became more graphic. But through all the years, the color red wove itself in my dreams.  
When that color appeared, so would the nightmares. It was like a beacon to horror. Usually appearing subtle at first, a forewarning easily overlooked. Emeralds were rubies and summer’s greens were autumn’s reds. Then the dreams would be saturated in garnet and the night terrors came.  
Pushed down; gravel embedding my cheek, nose scraping the ground. My breaths short, strained.  
The weight of his knee on my back. Little wisps of stolen oxygen laced heavily with dirt, burning my lungs. Tears and spit, snot and sobs frosted the ground from my strangled cries as I thrash and kick. Never strong enough to escape or buck the pressure of his knee piercing my back.  
Some nights, I’d feel him pinning my arms down along my side. Some times he bounds them against my back. Other nights, he’d grab me and strike my head against the floor, vision fading. A haunting cracking noise echoing in my ears. Skull bone ricocheting against the floor, a painful jolt somersaulting down my spine._  
~~  
The doctor flipped through your chart files in the doctors’ lounge as she sat across the table from the detective, “While it’s good to see you old friend, I wish it was under lighter times. How did they find her?”  
“It wasn’t the next morning, after it happened. Couple of teenagers in the hallway heard screaming inside her apartment. The screwed up thing, she suffers from night terrors so the neighbors didn’t think anything about it at first. Really didn’t pay attention. Wasn’t until her wailing went on longer than normal. They called for help then, but the poor girl woke up alone to that pain and horror.” The detective grew uncomfortable remembering the scene he was called to and looked accusingly down at the burnt coffee. “She say anything after she was admitted?”  
The doctor pulled a torn sheet of paper out of the medical file before closing it, “Besides some creepy song? No. Whoever did this really did a number on her. She’s been out for most of the first day. Put her under for the next eight. Called you this morning to let you know she woke, but she only repeats lines when we ask how she’s doing.” The doctor hand a sheet of paper over to him, “It’s not much, but wrote it down for you.”  
Broken bird, crafted wing.  
I’ll take care of you, I’ll help you sing.  
“What the fuck does that mean, doc?” The detective gave up on trying to resurrect the coffee as drinkable and tossed it in the trash.  
“Not a clue. Nurses said they can’t make out any of her other mumbling. We had to sedate her again, couldn’t risk any more tears on the stitches. For a shorter time, this one around. It was just something to take the edge off. She’s up now so your timing worked out. If you want to see her still, I’ll go in and check first,” the doctor backed away from the break room table. “…Just go easy on her. She’s in a fragile state and I’m not sure she’s ready to talk or remember what exactly happened to her.”  
“You saying I ain’t delicate?” The detective crossed his chest with two unforgiving meaty arms.  
The doctor eyed him, “You ever see the opening of Batman? Keaton’s version.”  
Snorting and hitting the table with his stomach, “Yeah, of course.”  
“You’re as delicate as Eckhardt in the opening, but not as graceful as Paul Blart”  
“Hilarious, doc. Too bad you’ll never beat Doogie.” Gathering his belongings, he followed the doctor out of the lounge. “Hey, what warranted the sedation?”  
Sighing heavily, the doctor looked down the sterile hallway, “Not sure. It was the same two nurses who’ve been with her most of the time. No episodes prior, just kept to herself muttering that creepy song. No lashing out. Her vitals were within range considering her condition.”  
The walk back to the hospital room was silent, the elevator ride was a dragging pace as both periodically glanced at the closed graphic case file trapped in the detective’s hand.  
Exiting the elevator, the doctor slowed with recognition, “One of this morning’s nurses is right there. Violet, a word please?”  
Violet popped her head up from behind the monitor at the nurse’s station, offering a quiet hello. Setting his coat down on the counter, the detective pulled a notepad from his worn chest pocket, “Now Violet. Can I call you, Violet? Please tell me what occurred today in Room 217…”  
After a brief run down, the detective ran his thumb across the new information. “Humor an old cop. Tell me again, just the facts ma'am.”  
Violet fixed her glasses on her nose, “Food trays were knocked over in the hallway. Caused a commotion outside her door because the patients were complaining loudly on how they’d have to wait longer for already terrible food. The arguing didn’t bother her though. She was somewhat lucid but not agitated…yet…”  
The detective looked up after the nurse trailed off. “Ma'am, anything else that may have cause the patient’s distress?  
Violet nervously tapped her thumb and leg up and down in unison, “Well, Beverly- my coworker, well she likes to watch soap operas when she can. She turned the television on-”  
“Jesus. Don’t say my vic saw herself in a news report,” The detective groaned, running his massive paw over his face with the pen tucked between his fingers.  
“No, no. Nothing like that,” the nurse clarified with a rush when she heard the doctor huff in annoyance. “Um, it was already on the soap channel.”  
“Then what was playing on the screen when she started screaming?”  
“Well, that’s the thing, sir. It hardly makes sense.”  
Slight impatience in his tone, the detective coaxed Violet along, “Ma'am. What was playing when your coworker turned the television on?  
“A reminder about how it’s important to recycle.”  
The detective pulled his face back from the notepad, frowning at the pages from what the nurse said. “A recycling promo? Why would a PSA for the environment set her off?”  
The nurse gave a little shrug, not sure if the detective was asking her the question or himself.  
“Well, was it sad?” the doctor offered. “Those dog charity commercials are horrible. I try to change the channel or leave the room if I can’t find the remote in time. No one wants to see those.”  
The detective made a note about the doctor’s confession to use against her later.  
“Oh gosh, no. Nothing as awful as those,” Violet rushed. “But it was a celebrity commercial. I’d let them lecture me on how to treat the environment any day of the week.”  
Trying to regain control of the questioning the detective asked, “Wait, who’s them? Who gave the message?”  
“The Avengers, sir.”  
~~  
_Dear Diary,  
In some dreams, I feel the knife running against my skin- red abrasions forming. A vile topographical map across my back detailing areas he’s explored. He marks each mole and dimple. He reminds me each section is his as he presses the blade’s tip into me further, dragging it along to its final destination. A place unknown.  
Graffiti my body with his possessiveness, and he wants me to thank him for it. An artist’s signature on their finished piece, he wants credit for his hardwork. He demands I acknowledge the time he’s put into me, the designs he etched along my spine.  
“You look so beautiful when you wither under me,” a voice always changing.  
I choke on the pain as he digs trenches into my skin. Will he slice deep enough to climb under my flesh and hide from his own hurt? Disguise his pain with my own? Help the hobbled, so no one notices his limp?  
His blade sharp, his blade dull; all depends on the mood he’s in and how I’ve treated him. He says breaking my wings will ensure I remain in the dream with him. Even in my own dreams, he demands respect from me._  
~~  
He tracks the number of days since you’ve left. Not by a calendar, but by how the scent of your perfume has lightened on the breakup letter. The lighter your scent, the heavier your absence burrows its way into his bones.  
And he can’t get the images out his head- the way your hands must have caressed the letter like you once caressed his chest. He runs his fingers over the papers to feel the impressions of your inked words, twice. Verbally and physically.  
Folding the pages over one another, he flips the edges like a motion booklet trying to manipulate the words into a different meaning. You were once a key to his happiness, a lighthouse to his foggy madness. Now you’re flying away like everything else and he’s left grasping at the air trail you left behind.  
He lays the scented paper on his chest and pumps his cock in anger. He misses you. He misses himself. With each stroke along his veined hardness, his madness grows. The coil in him tightens with his balls, and he’s ready. He’s ready to cum, he’s ready to get you back. A thumb of over his tip, his hips buck up. Your foot over the edge of a cliff, he’ll push. Push himself right into your tight cunt.  
A hand on his shaft, he grabs your letter from his chest and lays it over his face. The scent of your perfume and cowardice cut him; he pumps faster. He remembers you laying on your side, ass cheeks against his cock, pussy wet and juices running down your thigh.  
You arch back into his broad chest and slide your leg up over his forearm. He moves you in different degrees, different angles- a geometry problem ready to be fucked. Your leg hangs over the crook of his arm and he curls over you to watch your breasts respond to his hand that’s snaked underneath your body. He holds you close and rocks his hips, his cock sliding against your folds. The heat makes him hiss as he bites down on your shoulder while you coat his shaft with your slick.  
You moan his name and roll your ass into him, “Baby. Don’t bite.”  
Between little nips and kisses Sam replies,“Gotta break you in, angel. Can’t let you fly away.”  
Dragging his length against your heat once more, he fits himself between your folds. Slowly stretching you. He slides his hand down your body while his other massages your breasts. Cupping your sex, he rubs the bottom of his palm against your clit. Dividing his fingers, he parts them on either down of his dick.  
“Gonna fill you up, angel. Grab my wrist, move my hand.” Sam instructs through deep thrusts. He feels a shiver run down your back that’s molded against his chest. “I’ve seen the way you’ve smiled at me! You wanted me! Prove how much. Rock that body for me, angel- fucking work for it!”  
You chant his name with each roll of your hips and murmur through whimpers on how you’re close.  
“That’s it, angel,” he encourages as he feels you tighten around him. “Move my hand, make me rub your clit. Set the fucking pressure.”  
You switch hands and grab his wrist, pressing it down harder onto your pussy. Covering your hand over his, you splay your fingers out along his cock. Squeezing your eyes close, you feel his length move along your walls and through your joined hands with every push and pull.  
“First time I saw you, angel,” Sam confesses close to his release. “I couldn’t stop staring at you. I knew I had to have you.”  
“I’m yours. I’m yours,” you say offering yourself up.  
And his spills.  
He spills himself over his calloused hand and shudders against the mattress in your room. You’re out tonight, but he’ll get you back. He’s let you marinate in your loneliness like you left him to marinate in his.  
Licking the beads of himself off his fingers, he smears the rest on the stuffed alligator resting safely by your pillows. A piece of him to be there with you when he’s away on missions, he thinks smirking at the image of you cocooning yourself around his cum.  
Tucking himself back into his pants, he straps on his armor and wings. Turning off the lights, he heads to the roof of your apartment to bring you home. You’re gonna see reason, angel. You’re gonna understand you’re mine. He has tonight to set things right with you, because tomorrow he’s helping Steve with the brewing hostility of the Accords. He can’t leave you without you admitting, you’re still his.  
You stumbled down the pub’s step, laughing out your goodbyes to your friends as you try centering the weight of your leaning roommate, Ellen. Linking your arm with hers, you start on the short walk to the corner market and your apartment.  
An odd sound in the air grows as you two cut across the streetlight’s reflection on the pavement. Before you can question it, your roommate complains, “Crap, Dan’s calling again.”  
“Maybe it’s time to talk to him then, Ellen?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Can’t hurt, can it? It’s been a couple days since you last talked to him. Maybe hear what he has to say?”  
Ellen scoffs at your suggestion, “Are you seriously giving me that advice?”  
A thump echoes from the rooftop above, but Ellen’s next accusation makes you snap attention back to her.  
“When’s the last time you talked to Sam, huh?”  
“Don’t. We’re not talking about me.”  
“No, you’re not talking about you. I am,” Ellen countered.  
“You want that ice cream or not?” You evade her question by pointing to the store’s entrance, a second thump ignored as your impatience grows. “Because I still got another half block to go.”  
“Sure. Drop the subject about Sam, just like you dropped any communication with him.”  
“That’s unfair, stop bringing him up. In fact…” You trail off as you pull out your phone to text Ellen’s boyfriend. “Dan’s coming to get you here. You want to meddle in my shit, I’m meddling in yours.”  
“Alright bitch,” Ellen puffed her chest out. “You want to play that way?”  
“I guess we are,” some amusement creeping into your tone.  
“Oh-oh-oh. FINE. I’m gonna get me an orange push-up and gummy bears. And then- we,” pointing her finger between you and her with animated gestures. “We, are hashing this out like fucking adults. No more avoiding.”  
Ellen stopped before the store’s entrance, watching a cloud of dust and pebbles fall from the top of the building, “Big fucking birds in this big fucking city.”  
“Yeah, well fits with your big fucking mouth,” rolling your eyes and teasing her slightly. Maybe it was time to talk to someone about Sam.  
“How big of a bag are we gonna need for this session?” Ellen asks with concern. “Come on. Just give me something. I can tell Dan to wait at home. But I need to hear why you dumped the poor guy.”  
You shot her a glare before relenting, “The dreams were bad, Ellen, so bad. Thought I was losing my mind or something.”  
Ellen sat down on the curb and patted the space next to her. Stretching your legs, you purposely took your time to gather your thoughts and courage. Ellen bumped into you, prompting you to finally share your worry.  
“With Sam, he had enough stuff to focus on. Life and death, Avenger stuff. He didn’t need some odd girl with crazy nightmares causing drama for him.”  
“I don’t think he would’ve seen it that way, love.”  
More pebbles fell in the distance as you brought your legs up to you chest, “The dreams, they were painfully real, Ellen. At first, I never could make out the guy’s face, but then the face- well, it just really scared me.”  
“The time apart because of missions wasn’t the issue?”  
“No, I could deal with that. Don’t get me wrong, I missed him. But it was this guilty feeling I had that if he knew I was up scared most nights, he wouldn’t be able to focus on his job properly. He needs to concentrate on his missions. If he’s distracted and worried about me here and something happens to him there… I wouldn’t be able to handle that guilt.”  
“Why didn’t you just tell him that, love?”  
With a solid shrug, you half-joked, “Maybe I just like to suffer in silence.” But it was the return of the red dreams that kept you on edge.  
You two sat in silence before Ellen went inside to collect ice cream and candy. When she came out, she found you standing by Dan’s car talking with him.  
Ellen squared her shoulders, “Deal’s a deal. I’ll talk it out with Dan, you find a way to talk it out with, Sam.”  
You nodded your head in agreement as Ellen got into the car. Watching her buckle in, you were still unsure if you’d follow through on your end or not. Maybe it was too late to rectify what you ended.  
“Hey!” Dan called out as you started walking away from the car. “Where do think you’re going? Get in, it’s too late to walk. I’ll drop you off.”  
“Nah, I’m okay. Have some stuff to think about. Besides, it’s just a minute away.”  
Dan didn’t look convinced, “I don’t that’s a good idea. Come-”  
Ellen saved you from a debate, figuring you needed time alone, “Listen, go straight home. Your ass better text me when you get there. Let me know you’re safe.”  
“I will.”  
You watched the taillights fade before you left the halo lighting of the parking lot. With the apartment building in sight, the odd sound from earlier rang out down the empty streets. The volume bounced chaotically off the buildings amplifying the familiar noise, but you didn’t place it right away.  
Lawn mower? Motorcycle? Small plane?  
Just as you realized what that sound was- the noise engulfed you.  
Plucked off the asphalt, your legs dangled in the air as your head wretched itself back from the force and speed. Your head collided against the armored chestplate and pain speared your skull. You tried focusing your vision as the wind sliced your eyes but you could only see red.  
Red goggles stared back down at you. The fear of your dreams and the pain in your head took over as you fainted in his arms above the city.  
Safe. Night  
Landing back on your apartment’s roof, Sam let your phone drop after texting Ellen.  
He was seething.  
Now, now you decided to explain the generic dear john letter you left him when he was out on a mission? And you opened yourself up to someone else to explain what you felt? Why couldn’t you tell him?  
He laid you on the bed and snatched the alligator away from your head, chucking it at the bureau’s mirror.  
Fuck. What was he going to do now? He only wanted to talk to you, to fix the rift between you. He could get a room full of strangers to talk to him, but you? You fucking refused.  
Sam threw his arms up in frustration, he needed to calm down. He needed to win you back before he had to leave.  
You were his. His angel. He could help you with the dreams. He could protect you. It wasn’t your fault for the nightmares. He knew you still cared for him. In your own mixed up way, you tried to protect him. On the rooftops, he heard how scared you were and your reasons. You finally looked peaceful laying in the same spot he just jacked off on. He needed to think.  
He’d bring you peace. He’d make sure you weren’t alone. A part of him always with you. He’d be your guardian angel.  
Pacing the room, his eyes landed on the alligator. Laughing at his change in luck, he knocked the stained stuff animal aside and he grabbed your diary. He’d get you to open up one way or another.  
Dear Diary,  
I try to be lucid and choose different actions in my dreams, but they all lead down the same path. An adventure book with only one ending.  
I”m not sure when my mind morphed my hero into my villain, but the monster and unknown man became Sam.  
He doesn’t deserve how my mind’s twisting things, he doesn’t need to be tied down to me.  
So today, I wrote him a letter telling him we needed to stop seeing each other. Ellen called it a dear john letter, but I didn’t meet anyone else, unless we count who’s cutting me in my dreams. It’s just that I’m so fucking terrified of him in my dreams, I feel guilty looking at him when I’m awake. She doesn’t know why I ended things with Sam, only I do. He deserves better and my dreams are too painful. I thought ending things with him would end the nightmares, but they’ve only gotten worse. My back hurts when I wake up. Sometimes before I even open my eyes, I prepare myself in case there’s blood on the sheets or bloody wings already stamped on my back. Sam is so enraged in the dreams. The sweet things he said to me before are now coated with hate as he screams and slices.  
I did not carve that breakup letter with malice, but he carved my back with it.  
With shaky hands, Sam sneered at the pages in your diary. So he was the villain? You could say how you felt in these pages, you could talk to Ellen in some dark fucking parking lot, but you couldn’t spare him any time? He’s the one that had experience with listening, he wanted to you to come to him. Why didn’t you come to him? He was an Avenger, he would protect you. He would have helped you.  
But you just shut him out with that letter. You shut him out so easily. You turned him into the villain.  
It’s clear now to him, you don’t know what is best for yourself. You need him. He wouldn’t let you break yourself any further; he’ll save you from you.  
And then it happened, the idea and his release were right in his hands as he looked down at your diary. A way to always tether himself to you. You would be each other’s guardian angels during this fallout with the Accords.  
Removing the mini-kit from his armor pack, he took out a small syringe of tranquilizer. The best way to get over one’s fear was to face it head on. As if hollowing your body would allow the pain to be hollowed out from himself, he moved his blade along your skin.  
This was the closeness he was finally able to have with you. Your blood staining his skin and the warmth of it on his painted hands. An odd sense of comfort and intimacy as he reached further inside you, running fingers above thinly veiled veins and hidden muscles; caressing pieces that made you, you.  
He smirked slightly that you were literally under his thumb as he ran it under your flesh with parts of you becoming trapped under his nails. A small thought of how he’d keep a part of you with him, a bigger thought that he’d always be with you now.  
He wanted your outsides to match his insides, a visual manifestation of how he felt. The underside of your skin, beautifully marbled. The blood fanning around, encasing you both in warmth. Red halo. Ruby redemption. Smearing the blood from his cheek and red goggles, little crimson angel.  
The fire on your back sterilizing his pain as he sterilizes your wounds. You’d wake later alone and in agony, but he thought this was a fair punishment for how badly you hurt him when you left.  
~~  
_Diary,  
Does time heal all wounds? Doc said I should write in here again, but it’s been a struggle.. It’s been years since he carved these monstrous wings in my back. The wounds still hurt. I find satisfaction that he was hunted because of the Accords. I’m happy and relieved he dusted in The Snap. I want him to remain gone.  
I no longer have the red dreams, maybe because it all came true. I wrote that stupid fucking letter to him to spare his feelings. And instead, I tied myself to his horse and let him drag my mangled body across the plains. Here my dreams were warning me and I opened the door inviting the nightmare to come to life._  
Your intricate scars burned today. The irritated, jagged angel wings covered your whole back and dropped pass your hips, feathers curving around your ass.  
You woke up to a slow itch rolling its way across your sensitive skin. By the afternoon, your man-made markings were aflame. Excusing yourself to apply more lotion in the company restroom was getting to be too much. Despite the number of applications, there was no relief. Something was wrong, you felt it in your stomach and in the scarred feathers along your back. During lunch, you cried over your sandwich. Blurry-eyed, you excused yourself work for the rest of the afternoon.  
Making your way home, you tried to not bump into anyone or lean against the subway seats. Riding the rocking tracks only caused you to hiss under your breath when your blouse rubbed against your skin too much. You stopped wiping your tears at this point.  
Climbing the steps to your place and locking the door, you unceremoniously dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes by the island. Turning into the kitchen, you put the kettle on and grabbed a bowl of berries from the fridge. Rolling your shoulders and twisting your back to pop, you gathered the supplies for your tea as you popped a couple berries in your mouth. Opening the tea container and inhaling the comforting scent, you planned on taking a warm bath to sooth your skin and nerves.  
Wait, your back. It wasn’t hurting now. When did it hurt last? The subway, definitely. You remember how you were barely keeping the tears back, embarrassed about the state you were in. Racking your brain, when else did your back hurt? The walk from the terminal, yes. But then the pain eased slightly as you got closer to your building. Your bag. You kept your bag strap wrapped around your hand, clutching it to your chest so you wouldn’t swing when you walked. You did that often, keeping your arms immobile created less disturbance along your scars. The elevator? The pain was so much less as you rode up to your floor. Now that you realize, there wasn’t any pain when you absentmindedly slung the purse strap over your shoulder as you stepped out onto your floor.  
Your back wasn’t hurting now. Why wasn’t it hurting now? The kettle screamed, startling you out of your haze.  
Turning the knob off of your stove, you reached for the kettle and froze. Rich hues of red and blue caught the corner of your eye. Making your way around the island, you saw a replica of Captain America’s shield leaning against your wall. The light breaking past your wooden blinds highlighted the star causing it to glow. Your shoes and bag next to the shield. How could you miss this glowing warning when you came in earlier? There was no way you would have missed- then you saw it. A pair of red goggles hanging by its strap on the back of your kitchen chair. Your stomach lurched as the berries tried to climb up your throat.  
A mix of fear and anger boiling in yourself. Praying all this was a fake, you screamed out your own form of a battle cry. Kicking the shield, praying it was plastic. You watched it topple over, circling and twirling along its edges madly. The metal laughing at you as it hit against the floor. A sob escaped your chest, the shield’s movements settling. Not plastic. Frantically looking around, you stumbled away as your back contacted with something.  
A hand shot out behind you and covered your mouth. Screaming into the palm of your intruder, you clawed at his hand as he hushed you. Thrashing your legs, he kicked them up and leaned back with you resting against his chest. Your feet kicked slicing the air as he grabbed your wrists together with his free hand. “I missed you, angel. I know you missed me. I could feel it.”


End file.
